A Rough Week
by hutch-life
Summary: Spock's chance for a good night's sleep is interrupted.


**Title**: A Rough Week

**Author**: hutch-life

**Fandom**: Star Trek

**Pairing**: Kirk/Spock

**Summary**: Spock's chance of a good night's sleep is interrupted.

He was quietly confident that his fatigue had not been obvious to the crewmen on the bridge, but as Spock heard the door of his quarters slide closed behind him, he let out a sigh, and pressed his palms to his eyes, standing only a few paces from the door. It has been a difficult day, and perhaps, he allowed himself, a difficult week. Not that he would have admitted finding it so to anyone. New staff on the ship, trained but still very green, a violent stomach 'flu that had ravaged a sizable proportion of the Enterprise before McCoy could identify and eradicate it. _Yes_. Spock lowered his hands and took a breath. _The good Doctor_.

Spock knew, of course, that his verbal sparring with McCoy was practically an institution, and part of a daily ritual which provided much needed stability and comfort for not only the Doctor, but to anyone else who overheard it. Their gentle animosity was as disarmingly familiar to the crew as the warbling of a mother bird is to her chicks. _But still_.

Spock walked to his wardrobe and began pulling off his uniform, continuing to allow the events of the day run through his head. _Pointed-earred devil-faced busybody_ … perhaps it was his tiredness, but that particular barb had had Spock close to loosing some of his cool today. He was lucky that neither Jim nor McCoy had heard the pen, held just-too-tightly behind his back, snap in half as he struggled to keep his face schooled. The captain's half-hearted reprimand of his CMO somewhat lacked gravity, when it was accompanied by an appreciative smile. _Ain't no use in defending him, Jim – what kind of normal, decent folk have the temperature in their rooms set to 30 degrees? _

"Computer – raise ambient temperature by four degrees," said Spock as he folded his tunic. He didn't believe that the Doctor's obsession with likening him to that old Earth-Christian mythological character had as much to do with the way he looked, as McCoy's determination to discredit his pragmatism as cold-heartedness. Perhaps even _evil. _He changed into a long Vulcan robe, clasped the front neatly, and stretched in his carefully prescribed routine. As he did so, he closed his eyes, and pushed all thought of the day's many and various concerns from his head, clearing his thoughts, so that by the time he settled down to meditate, he felt entirely empty of anything resembling emotion.

Spock passed almost two hours that way, before standing and blowing out the candle. Settling on top of the sheets of his bed, he took a deep breath and lay back with his eyes closed. He could have five hours rest before his next shift, providing there were no code reds or unforeseen, new-crew, emotionally-fuelled disasters. Six minutes and twenty-one seconds passed before he was disturbed by the soft buzz of his doorbell. Spock's eyes opened immediately, but the rest of his body did not respond quite as promptly. Unbidden, the image of McCoy's gloating face appeared in his mind's eye, accompanied by a shameful rush of irritation. Pushing the feeling back swiftly, and with a sigh, he got to his feet and walked to the door, pushing the release button, frown fixed upon his brow.

It was not the gloating face he had feared. Rather, it was a somewhat slack-looking face; one which did not look likely to be able to assume anything as taxing as a gloat, even if its life depended upon it.

"Captain," said Spock softly, allowing a note of surprise to enter his voice. He looked down at the man, still in his command-yellow and issue trousers, leaning heavily against his doorframe. Bent over slightly, and swaying in an alarming manner, James Kirk had looked better. Spock might even go so far as to say that James Kirk had rarely looked worse. The captain looked up at him, his eyes moving about unsteadily, as if Spock's own eyes were playing a cruel game of hide-and-seek with them.

"Spock," he said, his voice sloppy. He held out his hands to the side in a sign of defeat, eyebrows sloping penitently, "I – I've had a few … drinks"

Spock raised an eyebrow, "I had deduced that from the smell," answered Spock. Without the doorframe as a prop, the Captain swayed suddenly, and made a fumbling grab which Spock answered with his own hand. "I think, Captain, that you should come inside." He led Jim into his quarters, and left him by a reliable wall while he swiftly obtained a glass of cold water. He handed it to the man, and Jim took it. An over-eager sip left him damper than before and looking curiously at the glass as if to discover it to be a trick one. _As if I'd ever participate in such a thing_, thought Spock, _He must be really inebriated_.

"Take a seat, Captain," he said, indicating to a chair. Jim spared it the smallest of glances, and waved his hand,

"No," he said imperiously, "I've not come here to sit, Spock,"

"Indeed?" answered Spock, standing a few steps from him, close enough to steady him if necessary, and far enough to escape some of the smell of whatever it was he'd been drinking. "Please, enlighten me as the purpose of your visit, Captain,"

Jim looked at him, clearly taking a moment to process the request. He blinked slowly, and then slumped forward, bringing one hand up to trail through his already confused hair.

"What'm I doing, Spock?" he mumbled, "Drunk," he added in a spit.

"We are both due back on shift in six hours," agreed Spock, taking in every detail of the man carefully and storing the information systematically in case it was required later in the sickbay. "I could think of a more appropriate time for you to indulge in this way,"

The man, his head still hanging forward, obscured from view, let out a rough, humourless laugh. Spock took a step towards him, leaning forward to take the neglected glass from him. Slowly Jim straightened up, his head hitting the wall with a soft thump.

"Rough week," he said, staring up at the grey ceiling. He let out another unconvincing laugh, closing his eyes, but not before Spock caught sight of a ominous reddening and damp glint. "Damned fresh cadets," he took a breath, "Damned good. But …" he let out a sigh, a quaver perceptible to Spock's sensitive hearing, "Damned fresh."

"Yes, Captain," agreed Spock, placing the glass upon the side, "but I believe they all have the potential to become valuable additions to the crew. It is simply a matter of time, and experience." He watched as the man slumped against his wall slowly opened his eyes and focused unclearly on him; Jim smiled hollowly.

"Tanner doesn't have potential anymore. Nor does Parsons," this time, the dampness that sprung into Jim's eyes would have been obvious to someone far less perceptive than Spock. It clung to Jim's eyelashes as he blinked twice, trying, no doubt, to clear the stinging sensation. _Yes, Doctor, I know about that. I've felt the sting of tears. Can you say the same of your favoured comparison? Perhaps even Lucifer shed a few as he looked up at the place he'd once resided._

"Twenty," said Jim softly, his voice uncharacteristically tight, "that's how old he was. Tanner."

"I read his personnel file," answered Spock, pulled quickly back from his own thoughts, "Outstanding grades in all fields. They allowed him to graduate early from the Academy,"

"Twenty," repeated the Captain, in hardly a whisper. He raised his hands to his face, a sharp breath drawn noisily through his fingers. Spock hesitated only for the slightest moment. He tried, at all times, to avoid physical contact with anyone. Firstly, though not able to result in a full mental connection to them, even the slightest contact was enough to feel the itch of another's emotions. Distracting at best, embarrassing at worst. Secondly, it just wasn't the Vulcan way. Physical contact was something to enjoy in private, and only with those that were close in friendship or affection. But Jim was close to Spock – he was the closest to a friend that the Vulcan had ever had, and he was clearly in need of the comfort humans so readily sought out.

Spock took another step forward, and laid a hand upon one of the Captain's wrists, "There was nothing that you could have done, Jim," he said softly. The Captain's hands remained stubbornly over his face as the man struggled to contain his tears, "It has been, as you said – 'a rough week'", continued Spock, "We have suffered a number of losses recently; it is never easy, Captain."

Spock frowned slightly as he attempted to encourage Jim's hands down. The man's cacophony of emotion was prickling uncomfortably at his own mind as he kept hold of the clammy hand. Grief was most pronounced, but fear, anger and embarrassment also floated frequently to the fore. Underneath, others lingered, repressed or forgotten: confusion, hunger, tiredness and … Spock's frown deepened for a moment, as he gazed at back of the man's hands, _lust_.

Burying the distracting emotions, Spock mentally shook himself, and pulled the Captain's hands away from his face forcibly, pulling him forward at the same time into an awkward embrace. He wrapped an arm stiffly around Jim's waist, and with the other hand, he clasped his shoulder. He felt the man shudder in his grasp, and remained silent as Jim shed a few more tears, and calmed somewhat. Minutes passed. The smell of alcohol swamped Spock, but he held the man resolutely, waiting for him to get a hold of himself. Spock wanted to give him the dignity of hiding his tears in Spock's freshly-cleaned robe, rather than having to recover in full-view. Eventually, Jim's breathing levelled out, and he stood silently, leaning heavily on his first-officer. _Is it appropriate to release him? _wondered Spock, _Now that he is no longer overcome, he may not wish to lengthen this physical contact. But perhaps_, he thought ruefully, _that is merely what I want._

As he was considering how quickly he could release the Captain without seeming uncaring, _Cold-hearted … Evil_, he felt a sudden stab of emotion flowing into his mind from the man. _Lust again. Humans have such a propensity allow one emotion to flow into another. Fear to anger, anger to arousal, arousal to lust._ Spock was, therefore, only mildly surprised to feel a soft throb and twitch against his right thigh. But Jim did not pull away to cover up his growing arousal. He remained still, leaning slightly against Spock, swaying a little. Spock felt the slightest increase of pressure against his leg, as if Jim were testing him, to see if his support would vanish suddenly into the air. Spock did not move. It wasn't that he particularly wanted to be the passive recipient of Jim's overactive libido, nor that he thought objectively that it might be a good idea. _This is a bad idea,_ he acknowledged to himself.

_However, it would appear that I haven't moved._

The Captain pressed against him slightly harder, and the warm ridge of his seemingly fully-erect penis dug into Spock's thigh. Jim moved his hips forward again, incrementally, and then with more confidence. Spock reasoned that the time had passed for him to reject Jim's sudden and apparent need to drunkenly rut against him. _Logically, the moment would have been approximately seven thrusts ago. _Knowing that he might live to regret it, Spock closed his eyes, and tightened his grip on Jim, just enough to send a clear message to the man. Apparently even large quantities of alcohol were not enough to stop Jim reading his subtle communication loud and clear.

The captain let out a soft, shuddering sigh, his breath hot on Spock's neck. He Pressed as closely as he was able to against his first-officer, grinding his erection slowly against Spock's leg. Up and down, again and again. Time seemed to pass slowly for Spock as he fought to repress the arousal that was curling like smoke around his own mind. It wasn't his, _but it might as well be_. The resilient material of the Captain's Starfleet-issue trousers dragged against Spock's robe as the man humped steadily. Spock did not need the unintentional, and undesired flow of Jim's emotions to know that the material, however rough, was serving the desired purpose in this instance. Jim's heavy breathing was enough. The Captain moved his legs slightly, spreading them enough to capture Spock's thigh between his own, and rubbed his crotch against Spock's hip as hard and as fast as he was able. Spock steadied him carefully, holding the Captain's body against his own and readjusting his balance to accommodate the man's increasingly desperate thrusts.

Jim let out a soft grunt, clinging to Spock's shoulders with sweaty hands, rubbing himself into a drunken oblivion. Spock could feel urgency, and frustration mingling with the arousal prickling in his mind. Another soft grunt, warm against the sensitive skin of his neck, and Spock submitted. `he released his grip on the Captain's shoulder, and dropped his hand, trying to ease it between their bodies. Jim took a sharp breath as Spock slid his hand between his legs, cupping Jim's heavy, hot balls and squeezing gently. Spock slid his hand firmly up and down the hard line of Jim's erection while the man continued to thrust unsteadily,

"Now, Jim," whispered Spock, his voice sounding even more gentle than he had intended it.

Jim's breath caught, and then he grunted desperately. He became still, and Spock felt the erection beneath his hand begin to pulse heavily. Suddenly, Jim was shuddering, holding on to him tighter. Spock took a breath as he felt the wave of Jim's orgasm press against his mind. The man shuddered a few more times, before stilling, panting heavily. Spock felt a new warmth against his hand, and knew that one he pulled it away, exposure to the air would make the dampness feel suddenly cold.

They remained still for a short while, until Jim straightened up, attempting to stand unaided. He quickly reached out for the wall. Spock met his hesitant eyes levelly,

"I …" began the Captain in a quiet voice, but Spock indicated lightly with his hand, silencing Jim's attempt at speech. But, on seeing the first signs of embarrassment in his Captain's eyes, he gave the man a quick, small smile.

"I think it might be advisable for you to stay here tonight, Captain," he said after a moment, "It would be unfortunate if one of the crew were to see you on your return to your own quarters in your current … condition."

Jim looked blearily down towards his crotch where the fabric was damp and visibly darkened. He nodded,

"Thanks, Spock."

He managed to remove his boots with help from the wall, and stumbled towards the narrow bed. Spock watched as the man pulled the neat sheets back roughly, and made as if to climb in.

"Sir, perhaps it would be better if you removed your clothing first?" said Spock quickly. Jim hesitated, and nodded seriously,

"Yeah, your right," he began fumbling with his buckle immediately, and Spock turned away discretely. After a moment, he turned back to see a fleeting glimpse of backside before Jim was safely beneath the sheets. He seemed to pass out almost immediately. Spock looked at him for a long moment. _Humans are quite beyond my ability to understand._ Spock stepped forward and picked up the Captain's clothes, finding himself to be unexpectedly resigned to the familiar smell of semen that filled his senses as he threw the trousers into the washing chute. Returning to the bedroom, he sunk into his chair and watched the Captain sleep. A small smile pulled at his lips. Jim had many faults, but Spock believed that were it in his power, he would not choose to alter them.


End file.
